


Rite of Passage

by longlostintentions



Series: Untold Ethnographic Archive of Galahd [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabble, Family Bonding, Final Fantasy needs more Good Dads, Folklore, Gen, Oneshot, baby!Nyx, mythos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-06 06:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14051070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longlostintentions/pseuds/longlostintentions
Summary: Why do we braid?A drabble I couldn't get out of my head.Going to be part of a "They wont give us enough information about Galahd for my anthropological needs so I'm creating their culture myself" series.





	Rite of Passage

A young boy sits on his father's lap, wooden Coeurl in his hands, making sound effects that were more fitting for the boats that passed by the islands than a large feline. Such is the way of children's imaginations, he supposes. He's just finished tying a bead, picked out by his son of course, into the braid on one side of his head. His own braid runs long down his back.

“Nyx, give me your hands,” he commands softly. The boy, Nyx, wonders what he could have possibly done wrong sitting there as he puts his tiny hands into his father's large calloused palms. It felt like safety. As it turns out, his father simply manipulates his hands over on the other side of his head, showing him the technique he's been using to braid.

“You'll have to learn to do this yourself soon,” he says. The boy squirms in his lap from sitting still so long.

“Why?” he asks. The man smiles, but of course the boy can't see it. He can hear the mirth in his voice though.

“You don't want to grow up to be the only young man in Galahd who can't braid his own hair, do you?” he teases. Nyx shakes his head, forgetting to hold still. They work in silence for only a moment.

“Didi?” Nyx prompts.

“Nyx,” his father replies.

“Why do we have to braid?” he asks curiously, slyly using the distraction to slip his hands out of the action. At least, he believes he is being sneaky. His father simply doesn't want to fight it. He still has time yet to learn.

“We braid as a devotional to The Huntress who birthed us,” his father recites.

The boy stumbles over the word quietly to himself.

“What is that?”

“It means we are doing something to honor Her and show our appreciation.”

Nyx just hums in acceptance and runs his fingers through the soft furs on his father's coat.

“Besides, how do you expect to hunt anything properly if your hair is always in the way?” he adds as a footnote. At this Nyx meets his father's matching blue eyes with a toothy grin, at least as toothy as it can get with one missing in the front.

“So I have to braid if I'm going to catch the silver Coeurl someday?” he asks with complete confidence.

“That's right. Do you think such an ancient creature would show itself to a boy with messy hair?” he asks, wrapping up his son into a nearly smothering embrace that makes the boy laugh and try to wiggle out of his arms. He lets the boy wrestle him to the ground as he escapes.

“Don't be out too long, Titi will be home with dinner soon,” his father instructs. The boy nods, whipping his head around fast, unused to the way the braids swing against his face, and darts out the door. The boy is long gone in the 30 seconds it takes his father to realize with a sigh that his shoes are still sitting by the door.

 


End file.
